


when we're together i'll forever feel at home

by liquidsky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Christmas, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: “You know me,” he starts, “Reasonable’s my middle name at this point.”“A lot better than Thomas,” Bucky says, sauntering into the kitchen and shoving Sam more firmly against the sink with his own body.“Fuck off,” Sam mutters, but his voice is muffled by Bucky’s shoulders. Sam’s arms close around Bucky’s waist and Steve raises his eyebrows at them, smiling.//A quick and short Christmas story featuring my favorite trio.





	when we're together i'll forever feel at home

**Author's Note:**

> all three of these idiots belong to marvel, but i love them a lot and wanted to write them having fun and enjoying themselves on christmas. the title is a line from "when we're together" by sleeping at last.

He’s sitting on the sofa with his legs curled under him, the fire coloring their living room with warmth – the orange light is catching Bucky’s hand as it skims through the pages of the time-worn novel he’s holding. Steve looks at him, takes in how Bucky’s hair frames his bearded face, how his cheekbones look less pronounced with the weight he’s gained over the four months they’ve spent here. 

He stares at Bucky’s long fingers and the light specks of cat hair attached to his green sweater, at his socked feet flexing as he repositions himself on the far end of the couch. It’s almost surreal, the weird rhythm their days now move to. It’s unlike any future Steve had imagined in the few moments he’d allowed himself these fantasies—he remembers how he hadn’t believed he’d ever see Bucky again, the wounded feeling of nearly getting him back just to lose him all over again, and his hands move on their own accord, fingers closing around Bucky’s knee and squeezing. 

“Trying to read here, Steve,” Bucky says, but there’s a smile hidden in the cadence of his voice. He looks at Steve and his lips twitch. Bucky unfurls himself from his previous position and lets his legs fall to Steve’s lap. Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s calves, closes his eyes. 

The lyrics to Stevie Wonders’ _Someday at Christmas_ start buzzing from the kitchen and Bucky shoves his toe against Steve’s legs, “Bets on him burning the house down?” 

Steve snorts, “Odd’s fifty-fifty, I guess.” 

“Shame. I’ve grown fond of this shithole, d’you know,” Bucky starts, and Steve shoves his hand into the leg of Bucky’s sweatpants to pinch his shin. Bucky raises his eyebrows, and Steve resolutely doesn’t glance at the bit of mold that’s clinging to the top left corner behind their awfully sparse Christmas tree. Well. 

"Should I check on him?” Steve asks, and Bucky wordlessly lifts both legs so Steve can make his way to the kitchen, humming softly under his breath. 

// 

Their cat, a fat, orange stray they’ve rescued from the local shelter and named Tabitha, is sitting on the counter and staring unblinkingly at Sam when Steve walks into the room. Sam’s hips are moving to the beat of the song, and the sink is filled with enough pots and pans to make everything look a little bit like a disaster area. There’s a smudge of flour on the right side of Sam’s face, and Steve can’t believe he gets to have this. Steve hoists himself up on the counter next to Tabitha, and Sam turns to him, 

“Won’t be done for another twenty minutes, man,” he says, “But you can help me with the dishes since you’re here.” 

Steve grabs the rag Sam throws his way easily, “Bucky was worried you’d burn the house down.” 

“Bucky’s an asshole,” Sam points out, leaning against the sink and undoubtedly getting the back of his sweater either dirty or wet. He frowns, “I should do it just to spite him.“ 

“Sounds reasonable,” Steve laughs. Sam shrugs. 

“You know me,” he starts, “Reasonable’s my middle name at this point.” 

“A lot better than Thomas,” Bucky says, sauntering into the kitchen and shoving Sam more firmly against the sink with his own body. 

“Fuck off,” Sam mutters, but his voice is muffled by Bucky’s shoulders. Sam’s arms close around Bucky’s waist and Steve raises his eyebrows at them, smiling. 

// 

It’s their first Christmas together after everything that happened – there are still days in which Steve can’t have any of them out of his sight, still days in which Bucky will crawl so deeply into himself that they can barely get a word out of him, still days in which Sam won’t see them first thing in the morning and will have to pretend he’s not shaking, but it’s over now. Everything, except for the trauma they pretend doesn’t exist, is behind them. All the superhero-ing, the world saving, and the endless warpaths. Steve’s always prided himself on being discerning, he knows well enough that their self-imposed retirement both can’t and won’t last forever, but for now, watching as Sam’s hands sneak under the back of Bucky’s sweater, he finds that he’ll take anything he can get – anything’s more than he’d thought he’d have, after all. 

Under Steve’s gaze, Bucky turns his head to kiss the side of Sam’s face, his eyes closing as his lips meet Sam’s skin. Sam’s eyes are closed, too, and his hands are wandering up and down the expanse of Bucky’s back, pulling him closer against him. Steve spreads his legs unconsciously, watching as Sam does the same so Bucky can fit one of his thighs in the space between his. Steve feels almost drunk on the warmth spreading inside him, his heart speeding up and his mouth going dry – it’s always like this, somehow, even as they’ve done this enough times that the wave of desire crashing in his bones shouldn’t be surprising. It still is, and Bucky pressing his thigh against Sam makes him gasp, a sharp intake of breath mirrored by Sam, whose head hits the cupboard behind him, allowing Bucky’s lips to latch onto the soft skin of his neck. They’re moving against each other in a rhythm that looks both syrupy and frantic, and Steve can’t help but press the heel of his hand against his own hardness. 

The warmth in the kitchen is almost stifling, and the noise that comes out of Bucky when Sam finally shoves his hands into the back of his pants to pull him more tightly against Sam seems overly loud in the silence—Steve’s only now realizing that Sam’s Christmas playlist has stopped playing, and is immediately hyper-aware of his own breathing, how ruined he sounds already, just from watching them. Bucky steps away from Sam to take off his sweater, and Sam meets Steve’s eyes from over his shoulders. Steve’s comfortably familiar with every look that crosses Sam’s face on a daily basis, but most of all this one: his lips are parted, his eyes slightly dazed. Steve hops off the counter and makes his way to them, his hands falling to Bucky’s back as he presses his hard-on against Bucky’s ass. 

“Hey,” Steve says, quiet. He kisses Bucky’s shoulder before biting it, and Bucky sighs, hips twitching back against Steve’s. Sam laughs, this soft thing, and his hands snake around Bucky to pull Steve closer, properly caging Bucky between them. 

“You—”, Bucky starts, but stops short when Sam starts sucking a bruise into the side of his neck. Bucky’s usually the loudest between them, a fact that endlessly entertains both Sam and Steve, launches them into something that could be called competitive if it wasn’t also perfectly collaborative in their efforts to drag as much noise out of Bucky as they possibly can. Steve’s hand fist Bucky’s hair out of the way so he can nose at the back of his neck, inhaling the strawberry scent of the five-dollar shampoo they all share. Steve pauses, and Sam sighs into Bucky’s clavicle. 

“You should be wearing fewer clothes,” Bucky says, finally, and Sam nods. Steve steps back, and Sam looks him up and down—Steve doesn’t blush, exactly, but his body grows even warmer under Sam’s gaze. Bucky turns around, presses a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “And unless one of you have been hiding lube in one of those cookie jars, we should probably move this to the bedroom.” 

// 

“This is… a Christmas movie?” Steve asks. His feet are propped on the coffee table and both Sam and Bucky are leaning heavily into his sides. 

Sam nods, “It’s a classic, Steve.” Steve glances at Bucky through the corner of his eyes and Bucky pulls a face. On screen, Bruce Willis’ character is jumping off a building, and Steve finds that although his delving into recent movie history has allowed him to realize that he doesn’t particularly enjoy action flicks, Sam’s choice of a Christmas movie was something that could easily be endured if it meant he had his favorite people pressed against him on the couch and under the checkered duvet Sam’d gotten them as a self-given housewarming gift. He’s drifting off, mostly, thinking about the presents he’d meticulously wrapped hours earlier, the wonky and sparse tree with blinking red and blue lights, Sam standing on the tip of his toes to place a star on top of it. 

He thinks back to watching Bucky fade out of existence and links their hands under the covers. Bucky squeezes his hand, whispers “I don’t get it either.” Sam throws popcorn sideways at them and huffs. 

//

Their bedroom is dark when they walk in, but none of them turns on the lights. They stand there for a second, breathing together, before Steve moves forward to capture Sam’s lips in a kiss. Bucky presses his fingers to Steve’s back, and Steve sighs against Sam. They break apart, and Bucky pushes Steve towards the bed. Steve falls with his legs open, leans back on his elbows to watch as Bucky grabs Sam by the sweater and licks his way into Sam’s mouth. Sam’s arms wrap around Bucky’s shoulders and Steve sits up to tug his own shirt off. Bucky lifts the hem of Sam’s shirt and takes it off, too, before pushing Sam’s pants down. Steve stares at Sam’s legs, his thoughts hazy—Sam’s cock is hard and heavy between his legs, and Bucky is watching him, too. The first touch of Bucky’s hand to Sam’s cock drags a loud, cut-off noise from his lips, and Steve pushes his own sweats down as Bucky glues himself to Sam’s front and starts jerking him off slowly. Sam’s hand is placed on Bucky’s waist to steady him, and he’s biting his lower lip hard to stifle any more noise. Steve watches Bucky’s fingers tighten around Sam’s cock, how Sam’s head falls on Bucky’s shoulder and his body tenses. Steve wraps a hand around himself, tugging at his own cock and matching Bucky’s rhythm – Bucky’s eyes meet his over Sam’s head and he grunts, loud and abrupt in contrast to Sam’s quiet huffing and Bucky’s precise touches. Sam turns his head to look at Steve, and Bucky smiles. 

He stops touching Sam for a moment and Sam moves, walking towards the bed and dropping himself heavily on Steve’s lap. Bucky sits next to them on the bed and starts kissing Steve’s neck as Sam grinds their cocks together. Steve’s eyelids feel so heavy already, his body thrumming with energy—the depth of his yearning always overwhelming, every single time, the desire he feels for both of them nothing short of electric in response to the fervor of their bodies against his. He feels as though he can barely catch his breath. Bucky’s hands are pressed to Sam’s back, nudging their bodies together as he trails kisses down Steve’s shoulder. Sam turns his head so his lips can meet Bucky’s and Steve’s heart feels too big for his chest all of a sudden. He wants so much. Sam pushes him back against the bed, then, climbs out of his lap to lie down next to him, and Bucky goes with, draping himself over Steve’s side, throwing his leg over Steve’s, his hand on Steve’s chest, rubbing his nipple. Sam’s hands are trailing up his thigh, his lips closing around the skin below Steve’s ear. He feels magnetic, electrified and blistering, light burning behind his eyelids even in the darkness of their room. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, Sam’s hand reaches his cock and squeezes – it feels so good, good enough to hurt, almost, and Steve feels just about light-headed, gasping for breath and choking on it, “That’s so—” 

“Feels good, Stevie?” Bucky asks him, and he’s so close, a blanket of heat all over him, his touches searing hot, “You’re gonna come for us, huh?” 

Steve nods, and Sam’s hands speed up on him, “Gonna let us fuck you, Steve?” Sam says, his breath warm against the shell of Steve’s ear. “Can we? Stretch you open and make you come all over us?” 

“Anything you want,” Steve agrees, and his voice doesn’t really sound like his voice at all, catching on all the wrong sounds, breathy and rough, “Whatever you want, I—” he stops, choking on the feeling of Bucky’s fingers trailing behind his balls, pressing his knuckles on the soft skin there, sparks flashing on his insides as Bucky shoves his fingers a little harder against him. 

Sam is smirking against the side of Steve’s face. Steve can feel the shape of Sam’s smile on his cheeks and he loves it more than anything, probably, enough that he’d do anything to keep it there. He spreads his legs wider, and Bucky presses a kiss to his chest, rubs the dry pad of his index finger against Steve’s entrance. “Buck—” Steve grunts, and Sam moves away from him for what can’t have been more than a second, but Steve shivers all the same. Sam passes the bottle of lube to Bucky, and Bucky’s fingers retreat for a second only to come back slick and cold. 

Steve’s sighing, and Sam is licking into Steve’s mouth and biting his lower lip and causing shivers to break out over Steve’s skin now for another reason altogether. Bucky pushes two of his fingers inside Steve at once, like he knows the slight burn only adds to it—and he must, they’ve done this enough, usually exactly like this, Steve can’t help how much he loves it, the stretch, nearly painful at first then just right, intense and somewhat otherworldly. “Another one, Buck,” he asks, low against Sam’s mouth, and Bucky gives it to him, curling them and rubbing against the spot that makes blood rush to Steve’s head like he’s underwater, drowning in a relentless crest of feeling that makes him choke around his words. Sam kisses Steve’s jaw, the crook of his neck, sucks hard at the skin there and grinds his cock against the side of Steve’s thigh. He moans against Steve’s shoulder and Bucky drags his fingers out of Steve. 

“Who—” Steve starts, but Bucky leans over to kiss him on the lips and lace their fingers together. 

“Sam,” Bucky calls him, and Sam looks wide-eyed for half a second before sitting up and moving between the sprawl of Steve’s legs. Steve gazes up at him, heart in his throat, and nods. Sam’s cock nudges the skin behind Steve’s balls and Steve groans, mouth falling open. Bucky’s fingers push against Steve’s lips. Steve closes his eyes. 

“Sam—” begs Steve, and Sam rubs his cock against Steve’s entrance, “Fuck, come on, _please_ ,” voice cracking on the edge of each word. Sam pushes in, finally. Steve’s breath is ripped out of him. Bucky is running his hands all over Steve’s body, and Sam’s too, his palm flush against Sam’s flank as he shakes with the effort of holding still for one minute longer. 

Steve doesn’t need it, but maybe the waiting is more for Sam’s benefit than it is for his own, and Steve lets his head fall down onto the best, his hand squeezing Bucky’s where their fingers are threaded together. Bucky sits up and kisses the side of Sam’s face, mutters “He can take it, come on.” 

The first drag of Sam’s cock inside him makes his stomach flutter and he feels suddenly hyper-aware of all the spots where the three of their bodies are touching – Bucky’s hand on his, Bucky’s lips on Sam, Sam’s thighs against the back of Steve’s knees, Sam’s cock creating space in Steve. Sam’s eyes are trained on Steve, cataloging each reaction as he always does, like he’s still bewildered by the echoes of pleasure that resonate through Steve’s body every time. Bucky’s watching them, too, his gaze warm, fondness threatening to spill out and take them all in any time now. Focused, Sam starts moving in deep, slow strokes – he sounds good, thinks Steve, and feels even better, the pressure of his cock unyielding inside Steve. Steve feels hot all over, his legs already tensing as pleasure builds up with every movement of Sam’s hips. Sam’s hands are gripping Steve’s legs, and Steve can tell he’s getting close by the way his thrusts speed up and go less sharp, less precise even if still just what Steve wants. Steve feels it, too, the tightening in his body, his breath and a hundred messy pleads of _yes, like that, please_ spilling out of his mouth. He closes his eyes against the white-shock waves of pleasure and that’s it—his body given over completely, shaking under Sam as he comes for what feels like forever, blood rushing to his ears. Steve feels Bucky’s hand untangle from his and opens his eyes to stare at how fast Bucky’s stripping his own cock, his lips parted open and his eyes glazed over. Sam’s turning his head to touch his lips to Bucky’s, and it’s so much, the loud sounds Bucky keeps making against Sam’s mouth. 

Steve’s lifts his hand to meet Bucky’s where it’s stroking his cock and Bucky gasps. Steve stares at him, at Sam’s tongue licking Bucky’s jaw, their bodies now turning towards one another. 

// 

Steve’s brushing his teeth and leaning against the sink while Bucky and Sam shove each other in the shower, Bucky trying to stop Sam from standing under the spray too long. Steve wonders about their future, sometimes, which is in and of itself so different from how it was without them – he’s given up on the pretense of independence a long time ago, thinks of himself as honest enough to admit that the only time he considers moving forward is when he has their steady feet walking alongside him. At the end of the day, he’s not any good at being alone, and now he doesn’t have to. 

He looks sideways at how Bucky is poking Sam’s side and nods to himself at the weird giddy feeling he’s left with. His reflection in the mirror stares back at him when he allows his gaze to leave Bucky and Sam. The purple bruising on his neck will fade in less than 10 minutes, probably, and not for the first time he wishes they would last a little longer. 

// 

The kitchen is a mess when they make their way back, freshly showered and dressed in clean sweatpants – Tabitha is standing next to the sink looking their way with honestly more judgment than any cat should be allowed to muster, but she still purrs happily when Bucky leans down to scratch behind her ears. Sam shoots her a lot, mouths _traitor_ at Steve. Steve snorts. 

“Full disclosure,” he starts, “I half-expected the house to have collapsed under flames by now.” 

Sam levels him a look, all kinds of what-do-you-take-me-for written in the lines of his face, “I turned off the oven before we left the kitchen.” 

“Reasonable as fuck,” Bucky states, and wriggles his brows at Steve, “See? Much more fitting than Thomas.” 

“I fucking hate you, Barnes,” Sam warns, and Bucky’s grin gets exponentially bigger, “You guys would have no house by now if it weren’t for me.” 

“You guys?” Bucky mimics, “You living somewhere else now, Wilson? D’you have a secret apartment you fuck off to when we’re asleep?” 

Steve laughs, bumps his hips against Sam’s, “As if he could live without us, Buck.” 

“I’ll have you know I had a perfectly good life before you two idiots came along—” Sam interjects, and Bucky has the nerve to raise both his eyebrows at Steve like Sam isn’t even in the room, “—perfectly good house and all,” 

“Better than this?” Steve gestures to the patch of wallpaper that’s been slowly peeling off, “Sounds unlikely.” 

Bucky’s grin is still firmly in place, and Sam shoots him a look, “I hate you both.” 

“Even more unlikely,” Steve smiles, draping his arm around Sam’s shoulders, “God, I wish we had a dishwasher.” 

“Maybe Santa’s bringing you one this year,” Bucky says, “Have you been a good boy?” 

He shares a look with Sam, and Steve pushes himself off Sam with an eye-roll, “I doubt he could fit a dishwasher underneath our tree,” 

“We should ask for a bigger tree next year,” Sam notes, “maybe then we’ll get the dishwasher.” 

“We’d need a bigger apartment first, probably,” Bucky’s staring at the sink full of dishes through the corner of his eye. 

Sam sees him looking, “I cooked," he says, "No way I’m doing the dishes too,” 

“Not it,” Bucky says immediately, leaning away from the sink to go stand next to Sam against the counter. 

Steve huffs, but rolls up his sleeves all the same, “This mince pie better be a fucking dream, Wilson”, followed by “who even needs this many bowls to make a pie, anyway?” 

“Questioning my technique, are you?” Sam says and hops up onto the counter to smirk at Steve’s yelp when the water starts running cold. 

“I’m just saying, there are five bowls here, what were you even doing with all that?” 

“Next year you’re doing the cooking, then.” 

“Oh, fuck no,” Bucky interrupts, “unless you want to spend Christmas hunched over a toilet I suggest we steer clear of Steve’s cooking.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Remember that cherry pie for the 4th of July?” 

“That was not my fault and you know it.” 

“Whose fault could it have been? You were cooking!” 

“That’s not–I–” Steve pauses, and Bucky smirks in his direction like he’s already won the argument. 

Sam pokes Bucky’s feet with his own, “I don’t _mind_ doing the cooking, I just don’t wanna do the dishes afterward.” 

Bucky nods, “So, no point in asking if either of you got us a dishwasher for Christmas, right?” 

// 

The pie is exactly as much of a dream as Steve had expected it to be, and he’s squished in the couch between Sam and Bucky, the three of them with their feet propped on the coffee table. Sam’s looking nearly pregnant, and he’s given Steve’s nonexistent food baby the stink-eye four times already. Steve smirks at him, and Sam rolls his eyes. 

“We should’ve made eggnog,” Bucky says, dropping his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Not like we can get drunk, Buck.” 

“I can,” says Sam, “But mulled wine, maybe, eggnog sucks.” 

“That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.” 

“Not to sound like a dick,” says Sam, like a dick, “but thinking back to your life history and all, pretty sure that’s not true,” 

“No, your slander upon eggnog definitely beats years of torture and brainwashing,” Bucky answers, reaching behind Steve to flick Sam’s ear, “who the fuck doesn’t like eggnog, anyway? Where’s your Christmas spirit?” 

Sitting between them, Steve sighs. 

“I’ve just baked a whole fucking mince pie, man, you might as well call me _Sam_ -ta I’m so Christmassy.” 

“Just so you’re aware, that pun beats the eggnog comment for worst thing anyone’s ever said. Not even just to me. In general. You’re ruining the Christmas spirit. Steve?” 

“I’ve got enough Christmas spirit for all three of us, now if you both could shut the fuck up, I’m trying to watch this.” 

“No, you’re not,” Sam points out, partly because he refuses to believe Steve could want to watch _Shrek Christmas_ of all things, especially after his blatant disregard for the absolute awesomeness of _Die Hard_. Bucky furrows his brow at Steve before meeting Sam’s eyes. 

“Steve’s ruining Christmas now,” he says, and Sam nods. “What even is this?” 

"You’ve been out in the world long enough to know Shrek, man,” Sam says, and Bucky looks between Steve and Sam with a bemused expression. 

“Somehow this keeps getting worse,” Bucky muses. Steve snorts and pats his legs. 

“The animation style is interesting,” Steve explains, and Sam gets up from the couch to go fetch his laptop. 

“Have you seen _A Christmas Carol_?” Sam asks, and that’s how they end up sitting half on top of each other for nearly two hours while Steve ponders about the artistic value of computerized animation out loud. 

// 

The bed’s empty when Steve wakes up. The clock on their bedside table marks 11h10 am and the room is cast in a white hue, sunshine filtered by the snow that clings to their window. He sits up in bed and listens for the soft sound of human activity around the apartment – he can hear the water running on the kitchen sink and the quiet lilt of what seems like a piano echoing through the walls. The air smells a little bit like coffee and a lot like fried bacon, and Steve gets up once his stomach starts rumbling loudly. 

He pads to the living room to find Bucky curled up with Tabitha and his usual head-sized cup of coffee, the fireplace already lit. His novel is placed next to him on the couch, and Steve watches as Bucky moves his head to the sound of the song that’s playing now, his eyes closed. 

Steve smiles to himself, walks towards the kitchen as quietly as he knows how, stands by the door to watch as Sam leans against the sink to wait for his bacon to finish frying. He’s got a cup of coffee in his hands and a small smile playing on his lips. He’s the best thing Steve’s ever seen. He looks back over his shoulder at Bucky and his heart feels once again too big for his chest, too full of this thing that feels even too wild and overflowing to just call love. Bucky turns his head right on time, catches Steve’s gaze. The look in his eyes tells Steve he already knows all about this spill of effervescent feelings – that he shares them, too, all of the too big and all of the too much. He’ll help carry the weightlessness of this impossible thing. Bucky’s gaze leaves him to look at something behind Steve, and he turns, too, immediately caught in the warmth of Sam’s smile. Sam grins at him, too knowing, his outstretched hand holding a cup of coffee and the promise that, however heavy their past years have been, this Christmas, they’re alright.

**Author's Note:**

> any and all mistakes found here are my own, so please let me know in the comments if you spot anything that looks too out of place. merry christmas and thank you very much for reading! <3


End file.
